On we went a few more yards, when the Belgian came a cropper, having tripped over the foot of the thing spread-eagled in the rice field. In his hurry he had passed too close. I had given it a wide berth. I came back to help him up, and had to look at it. There was a small round hole in the back of the neck, just below the base of the skull. Hellincks scrambled up, panting. How he cursed! "What are you staring at, man? Take his gun--quick!" Bending down, I picked up the Winchester. In doing so I almost touched the body, and with difficulty suppressed a murmured, "I beg your pardon," because I was dominated by a sentiment of awesome respect for the thing that had been, and was no more. I wished to walk softly, on tiptoe, and felt _so_ thankful that he had fallen face-downwards. All this had passed in the space of a few seconds. "Come back! come back!" It was the corporal shouting to us, and there was a note of warning in his voice. Before turning to go I glanced up, and saw a puff of white smoke arise, float for a second over the top of the hillock ahead, and I heard a report. Something struck the wet ground a little in front and to my right. A speck of mud hit me on the chin; then, along a distance of 50 yards or so, the crest was covered with smoke, and there was a rattle of musketry. As we ran the ground and the air seemed to me to be alive, and I could not go quickly enough to please myself. Hellincks said between pants: "We forgot the cartridges." "Oh! d--- the cartridges!" I replied, and it was as if some one else had said it.... How far it seemed!--there were not more than 40 yards. How hot the sun was! I believe I was terribly afraid during the few seconds it took us to get back to shelter again. How we got back I don't remember; I only know that I felt quite surprised to find myself standing, somewhat blown, behind the big tree, telling my "non-com" what had happened, and feeling very anxious not to appear flustered. Hellincks lay panting and laughing on the grass beside the other men--three Legionaries, who were making caustic remarks concerning our running powers, and five _tirailleurs_. The latter were either kneeling sheltered by the tree, or extended flat on the road, their rifles ready to reply to the enemy's fire, which was increasing in intensity. To my explanation the corporal replied: "_Bon! bon!_ It was the fault of that dog of a native. Pity he was not hit--killed. They shot off his _sakalo_, and he fainted. Three of our fellows and two _tirailleurs_ are behind the pagoda wall to the right; they can see the enemy's position from there. Go and take command of them" (I was an _élève-caporal_--_i.e._, lance-corporal--at this time), "and follow up each volley we fire from here by another--distance, 300 yards." I went over to my little command, my nerves steadied by the thought of the responsibility which was now mine.